


Burn the Past, Burn the Ashes

by isaytheenay



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, M/M, Steve Rogers as the Winter Soldier, Winter Soldier!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 00:57:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1920663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaytheenay/pseuds/isaytheenay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky isn't exactly the shining image of freedom and justice that America had with Steve Rogers. They lost a true hero that day, and Bucky would never forgive himself for what had happened to him. Upon finding out that Steve is alive, he's here, and that he's now a cold-blooded killer who works for Hydra, Bucky will try until his dying breath to get his best friend back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn the Past, Burn the Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt: AU where Steve is the Winter Soldier.

He’d want you to continue. This was his legacy. There was no one else he’d choose over you.

Bucky looked down at the shield for a long time. He wasn’t Steve. This wasn’t who he was born to be. Steve was noble, brave, and selfless. Bucky was none of those things. The polar opposite, if anything. But they weren’t wrong: Steve  _would_ have tried to tell him that he could take up the shield. He could wear the uniform and be the symbol for the nation that needed it more than ever. They had lost their greatest soldier, and now someone had to fill his shoes. 

Bucky didn’t do it for America. He didn’t to it for Peggy or Howard, and he sure as hell didn’t do it for Phillips either. He did it for the little guy who was too selfless to know when to let him go. He did it for the punk who reached out as far as he could and pulled him back inside the train at the very last second.   

He did it for Steve Rogers, who lost his footing and grabbed at nothing but the air as he screamed and fell into the abyss of the alps, all to save James Barnes.

—————

The man spoke from a shadow, his voice calm yet threatening. ”Captain America is your target. Eliminate him.”

A slow nod. He studied the intel carefully in a matter of seconds. Captain America would be dead within 24 hours.

—————

The mask lay on the ground, forgotten.

"Oh my god."

The Soldier narrowed his eyes, confused. He’d stopped fighting. Why did he stop?

"Is that…" Bucky swallowed, squeezing the strap of his shield. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening. "Steve…?"

He tilted his head to one side -  _god,_ he used to do that all the time - and said, “Who the hell is Steve?”

And it was happening all over again. His heart broke, shattered into a million pieces, just like it had when he watched Steve fall endlessly into the ravine. Neither of them moved - not until the Winter Soldier ducked suddenly and Bucky turned, watched as a rocket went by and exploded at the space Steve occupied not two seconds ago.

“ _No!_ " Bucky charged forward into the flames, blood pumping loudly in his ears. He didn’t hear Natasha calling after him, he only saw the fire, the smoke, and god no, don’t let this happen again, I couldn’t handle losing you once, I can’t do it again—

Bucky stopped at the crater in the street and didn’t dare to breathe. The smoke cleared slowly as the sirens closed in around him. He heard the clatter of guns and Sam shouting at someone behind him. Someone grabbed Bucky’s arms and restrained him, but he didn’t look away. 

No body.

He was dragged away, but Bucky wasn’t concerned with whatever corrupt SHIELD agents were taking him away. He was still out there. Steve was alive, he was out there, and he wanted him dead.

—————

"Do you think," he started, his voice hoarse and raspy after days of being in a hospital bed without speaking, "he’ll remember…?"

Natasha shrugged, eyes fixed on a magazine she was holding. He knew she wasn’t big on displaying her emotions, but he saw the tension in her shoulders slowly release. She’d been worried sick, though he’d be damned if he heard her admit that. “There’s no telling, James. The Red Room doesn’t leave much room for error when it comes to their programming.”

"He pulled me out. He… that has to  _mean_  somethin’, Nat.”

"Maybe he doesn’t like a quitter." She eyed him, and Bucky looked away. 

"I was done fighting. I didn’t want to fight him. I spent my entire life protecting him. He…" He laughed softly, but was interrupted by a rough cough. He cleared his throat, still smiling. Natasha had lowered the magazine. "He always picked fights, Nat. That’s all he did. I swear he spent any down time he had going around and finding any guy that wasn’t treatin’ a girl right. And it wasn’t just girls; it was boys, too, or guys gettin’ their asses beat… if anyone treated anyone else wrongly, Steve was there, bare-fisted and hotheaded and ready to take a hundred punches."

Nat nodded slowly. “Everyone said he was the upstanding man of America.”

Bucky shook his head, sighing. “He was just a good man. He wasn’t doing it for America, he wasn’t doing it for the war… he did it because it was right. He believed in justice and freedom and equality. Never doubted anyone and gave everyone a chance. Hell, he gave me more chances than anyone…”

Natasha looked at him for a long time, knowing that behind the pristine image of Captain America, Bucky had a past that none of the kids at the museum wouldn’t want to hear about. Demons that would make the monster in the closet look like nothing. 

"I just want him back. Wanna show him the world like I told him I’d do for him. Not like during the war where the only time we were sent overseas was to kill people and take down Hydra bases. I wanna do it because I know he’d be smiling and drawing everything he could to capture every moment. He’d be… he’d be so happy…"

Natasha reached out and rested her hand on Bucky’s. “I know it’s hard, James. But that isn’t the Steve from Brooklyn. That’s not the Steve you grew up with and fought with. This is the Winter Soldier you’re fighting  _against._  He won’t show mercy for an old friend. A target is a target.”

He looked at their joined hands. “Maybe I can change that.”  

There was a knock, and they both looked up. “Hey,” Sam said, grinning. “Look who finally came around, eh? ‘Bout damn time.”

"Hey," Bucky said, smiling back. "Didn’t leave you too lonely now, did I?"

"Watched a lot of movies by myself, not gonna lie. We’ve still got some Netflix marathons to continue now that you’ve busted yourself up so bad. Doc won’t let you go for a few days."

He laughed. “Oh yeah, wouldn’t wanna miss any more Gossip Girl, now would I?”

"Hey," Sam said sternly, pointing at him, "don’t you hate on the dramatic lives of the rich uppity teenagers of New York.”

“Sam, don’t take this the wrong way, but I could take a shit and it’d be more interesting than what that show is about,” he said lightly, grinning at Natasha who rolled her eyes.

“Y’know what, for that, I’m gonna make you watch three episodes in a row.”

“Nat, find the anesthetics before the show starts.”

She shrugged. “I could just knock you out.”

He gave her a deadpan look. “I’d like to avoid more brain damage, thanks.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “It’d be less brain damage than that show’s gonna give you.”

Sam’s jaw dropped and he made a sound of utter disbelief.

Bucky turned and looked at him, then after a few moments sighed and patted the chair beside the bed. “Alright, alright, let’s get this goin’…”

—————

The mission was supposed to be easy. But wasn’t it the easy missions that always went wrong?

Fury had been given a tip that the Winter Soldier may be in Austria. Bucky couldn’t imagine why at first, but now that Pierce was no longer Steve’s employer, he had to have found another employer. Or maybe he was going solo. Bucky didn’t know or care, really. As long as he could find Steve and talk sense into him.

He suited up, held the shield tightly, and waited over the drop zone. It was him and Natasha this time, taking on a Hydra base that had just been discovered. Fury had strong suspicions that Steve was here, given the tip, and Bucky tried not to hold out too much hope. They took parachutes and jumped out of the plane, landed a mile out from the site, and made their way in in less than twenty minutes. No security system could keep Natasha out and no guard could sound an alarm before Bucky threw the shield or landed a lethal shot.

It was a factory, and as Natasha took out guards, she let Bucky go ahead, gun held at the ready, shield poised. He reached the final room and kicked the door in when the lock wouldn’t open. A man jumped up, then started shouting furiously in a foreign tongue, reaching under his desk.

Then out of nowhere, there was the sound of glass breaking and the man was dead.

Bucky watched in shock as his body collapsed against the desk and fell lifelessly to the floor.

_Steve._

He ran to the window and looked out, and instantly caught sight of Steve running across the rooftops. Bucky didn’t think: he took three steps back and launched himself forward, breaking through the window and running as fast as he humanly could. Steve was fast, faster than him, and damn him for that because his serum was more refined than his own. He could see the glint of metal and the reflection of small bits of his clothing as he ran through the low light from the city lights. Still, Bucky didn’t quit, ran until his lungs burned and ran more.

He leapt across a building and swore he felt himself closing him, and it motivated him further. He could do this. He could reach Steve, knock sense into that thick skull and take him home.

The Winter Soldier ran across another building and another, and Bucky was fast on his heels, just barely keeping up. Suddenly Steve skidded to a stop, pulled a gun, and turned towards Bucky, firing at least three rounds at him. He only have a fraction of a second to react: he held up his shield and felt the bullet ricochet off of it. He slid to a stop shortly after, keeping close to the ground as Steve pulled out a machine gun and pulled the trigger. Bullets rained in and Bucky curled up behind the shield, knowing he couldn’t cower forever.

When there was a pause in his firing, he stood and held up his own gun, firing two shots, but Steve jumped aside just in time and moved in close, grabbing his wrist and squeezing so hard that the bone nearly broke. Bucky cried out and dropped his gun, but quickly thrust the shield into Steve’s forearm, forcing him to let go. Steve kicked Bucky’s gun away before he got any second thoughts, throwing another punch that Bucky quickly blocked with his shield. The vibranium had never been so shaken before.

Bucky pulled back and tried to give space between them, but Steve didn’t let up. He moved in close and threw more punches, most of which were blocked by the shield. Bucky knew if he kept stepping back he’d walk off the top of the building. “Wait, wait…!” He ducked behind the shield again as Steve delivered a fierce kick, making Bucky stumble back a few more steps. “Steve,  _wait!!”_

He didn’t respond. Instead he threw another punch, and as soon as he was blocked with the shield, he grabbed the edge and pull, exposing Bucky’s arm and shoulder. He grasped Bucky’s shoulder and used all of his weight to throw him down. With his other hand, he grabbed his wrist and pinched something that made an electrifying bolt of pain travel up to his shoulder. He cried out and felt his grip on the shield loosen completely, to which Steve used to take the shield from him and threw it far away from him. Bucky’s eyes widened and he looked up at Steve, who withdrew a knife. “Shit,” he muttered and quickly rolled just as the knife came down to embed itself in the concrete beneath them.

Bucky forced himself up and took a defensive position as Steve came at him again, a second knife wielded and eyes wild. He attacked like a feral animal, but somehow within the chaos every move was calculated and precise. He managed to slash his shoulder and leave a deep cut just above his right hip. Bucky did his fair share of damage as well: he got a solid kick in Steve’s side and delivered a right hook to Steve’s jaw that left his knuckles sore and an angry red. But that’s what Bucky was: angry. Angry at Steve for not remembering him. Angry at Hydra for making him forget. Angry at himself for letting Steve take the fall for his foolhardy mistake.

When Bucky finally managed to get him to lose the other knife (it wasn’t easy, but he finally grabbed his wrist and twisted until he heard metal clang against the ground), he used the moment of his advantage and pushed Steve to the ground, a knee against his back pinning him to the ground. He grabbed a handful of hair – cut differently, short on the sides and brushed back on top – and pushed his face to the ground, his other hand gripping his wrist as tightly as he could manage. He had him pinned, at least for the moment.

“Your name is Steve Rogers,” he said breathlessly, “you hear me? That’s your name, you know me, damnit, you  _know me_ , Steve.”

There was a brief pause: Steve shut his eyes tight, his breathing ragged. “Shut  _up,_ ” Steve muttered, eyes focused on Bucky but only with the intent to kill. He tried reaching back with his free arm to force him to release him, but in his current position, it wasn’t easy, and Bucky made sure to press his face harder against the concrete and press his knee harder into his back.

“You gotta remember Brooklyn, you gotta remember growing up and livin’ at your mom’s and being my damned best friend, alright?!” Bucky knew he was growing desperate, his voice cracking at every other word. “You gotta fucking remember!”

Again, his eyes seemed elsewhere. But as soon as Bucky swore there was recognition, it was gone in an instant. “There is nothing to remember,” Steve hissed. “You are nothing to me.”

As if his heart wasn’t already broken beyond repair. “You’re my  _friend._ ”

“You’re my mission.” He twisted beneath him suddenly, pulling sharply on the wrist Bucky held and freeing himself. Bucky toppled over him and felt a fist connect with stomach, knocking the wind straight out of him. They struggled until Steve was straddling him, delivering unforgiving punches and roaring in a way that chilled Bucky to his bones. He covered his face as best as he could but Steve broke through, punching his temple and making him see dots of black in his vision. He had to stop this, he had to fight back before Steve killed him.

He caught one of his hands and held on like his life was on the line – and frankly, it was – and blocked the other, twisting his body and sending them rolling again. Steve tried to kick him somewhere in the process but Bucky knew better, blocked it and finally was the one straddling him. With his free hand, Steve threw another punch and Bucky lunged back, snatching Steve’s wrist and forcing it down fast over his head. Now hovering over Steve, they both stopped for a moment, catching their breath.

“Steve,” Bucky said weakly. “I know you’re in there. I know… I want you to come back to me, pal. I need you to get out…”

“Steve does not exist anymore,” he said, his expression somehow softer than before. Bucky wanted to believe that maybe he was sympathizing with him, but he knew it couldn’t be true.

“I’m not letting him go!” he shouted, pulling back and rearing a fist back with him. It was dangerous leaving the Winter Soldier with one hand free, but he didn’t do anything with it. He let it lie, eyes intent on Bucky.

“It’s useless.”

Bucky swallowed. He was lying. He had to be. “No… it’s  _not._ ”

Steve didn’t speak. He watched, waiting. Bucky would break, and it wasn’t long from now. All it took was a little push… “Steve is  _dead_.”

“You fucking…  _liar!_ ” And Bucky threw his fist before he could think about it, striking Steve across the face. His head snapped to one side but he turned to look up at him, a bruise instantly blossoming over Steve’s cheek as fast as it was over Bucky’s knuckles. “He’s _there,_ I  _know_ he is!”

“You’re wrong.” Another punch, and another, and soon blood coated Bucky’s hand. Steve didn’t seem fazed by the pain, clenching his eyes shut when he launched his fist forward. Bucky must have hit him six or seven times before he stopped, his hand held up behind his head. He didn’t know when he’d started crying, but he was now, tears pouring down his cheeks and sobs wracking his chest. His shoulders sagged and he bowed his head, his fist unclenching and dropping uselessly at his side. Beneath him, Steve coughed and spat out the blood in his mouth. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and looked up at Bucky.

Slowly, he reached a hand out, his hand ghosting over his hand. Bucky jumped slightly, and Steve pulled back. His voice was weak as he said, “… Buck…?”

He snapped his head up, looking down at Steve. He was sat, frozen, unable to believe what he was hearing. “Steve…?”

“I…” he coughed, covering his mouth with his elbow, and pulling his second hand free and holding his elbow. “Hell, Bucky, you did a number on me…”

“Steve… God, I…”

Steve looked up at him, expression soft and eyes bright  _just as he always remembered_.

“Is it… Are you…” he shook his head, reached a hand out and cradling the back of his neck gently. “Do you remember…?”

Steve swallowed, averting his gaze. “A little… My head hurts, things are a bit fuzzy…”

“Oh my god,  _Steve,”_ and without warning Bucky surged forward and held his face in both hands, kissing his forehead and his cheeks and his busted lip. Steve winced but laughed softly, holding both hands in his hands and squeezing gently. “I thought… I didn’t know if I’d get you back…”

Steve pulled back and leaned in, kissing Bucky’s lips despite the pain he felt. Bucky melted in his touch and clutched at his clothing, pulling him closer. When they parted, Bucky laughed and grinned, resting his forehead against Steve’s. Steve smiled, his hands gently weaving into his hair and taking a firm hold. He kissed him briefly and pulled away. In a low voice, he whispered, “You didn’t.”

Bucky frowned, never having a chance to react before Steve pulled back and delivered a swift headbutt. Bucky fell back and Steve flipped them one last time, punching his temple so hard that Bucky was motionless instantly.  

He wiped his chin of the blood, standing shakily. He stood over Bucky, stared at him for a long time, something deep in his chest twisting painfully. It wasn’t all an act. Bucky  _meant_ something to him.

With a frustrated breath, Steve turned away, running a hand through his hair. He looked down at Bucky again, biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted more blood. “I need to kill you,” he said, turning to Bucky. “My mission states that you are to be dead. You are the only mission I’ve failed.”

When Natasha found Bucky bleeding on the rooftop ten minutes later, she cursed him and called in a recon group and sat beside him, his hand tightly held in her own the entire time.

————-

_Steven Grant Rogers._

_1918-1944._

_A hero that America will never forget._

Another life. A life that was beginning to blend in his own head. He realized now that he wasn’t born in St. Petersburg. He remembered Brooklyn. Hot summers and freezing winters. He used to be small, sickly, but that never stopped Bucky from being his friend.

He watched the footage from the back of the theater. A time before the Winter Soldier. This was what Bucky wanted back so terribly.

He felt dizzy suddenly, flashbacks and small snippets of memories coming back to him. It made him feel nauseous and he had to get out before someone noticed.

He walked away from the museum, away from his past and the memories that would haunt the Steve who fell into the ravine. He walked until he found a bridge, made it halfway before stopping and looking out on the water.

Bucky was the last person from his past that he had left. And he was probably the one who knew him best. After all, they shared a close relationship. It had worked the first time, but he knew Bucky wouldn’t fall for it again. As much as he wanted Steve back, Bucky wasn’t stupid. Maybe Steve remembered a few things, but there was no chance in hell that he was getting the old Steve back. Bucky still hoped, and damn if he wasn’t persistent. Hope derailed a man from logic, but Bucky was smart enough to know that after that, Steve was well and truly gone.

Steve breathed in deep, knowing what had to be done.

—————

 _It’s like we’re back on the helicarrier_ , Bucky thought bitterly.

Steve stared him down, eyes cold and resolve unbreakable.

Bucky knew Natasha would kill him for it – “Don’t try and win him over, James,” she’d told him, eyes hard and voice shaky. “He is  _not_ who you think he is. He isn’t coming back, and I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but that programming won’t ever go away. Even if you get through to him, he’d going to be broken beyond repairing. Don’t you dare forget that.” Bucky had nodded and Sam patted his shoulder. “Remember what I said,” he said softly, and somehow that was even worse than Natasha’s speech. – but he spoke up. “I don’t want to do this.”

Steve set his jaw, breathing slowly, waiting to strike.

“Please,” he begged.

But Steve lunged forward, and all hope was thrown out the window.

Bucky met him halfway and Steve sent out the first blow, fist connecting with his shield and making Bucky stop where he stood. Steve kicking his knee as he recovered and Bucky toppled to the floor, grunting and rolling out of the way before Steve broke anything by punching a hole through him. He jumped up on his feet and got in close, moving quickly and punching, connecting with his stomach and ribs and even his neck, making him stagger back. It hurt to bring Steve pain. It was all he’d vowed to  _never_ do, and now he was forced to go against all he knew.

Steve pulled out guns and knives and whatever weapon he had. He managed to singe Bucky with a small-range bomb he’d had stowed in his vest, making him lose his hearing shortly in the aftermath. Steve didn’t stop of course, tackling him and taking his right shoulder in a dangerous hold, threatening to dislocate it in seconds. Bucky managed to reach for his own gun and point it in Steve’s direction, firing blindly and eliciting a sharp cry from him. He was released and he instantly pulled back, maximizing distance. Steve was holding his left arm, his teeth grit tightly and his expression pained.

Bucky hesitated for a moment, but he finally changed his hold on his shield and shifted his position, wheeling it back and throwing it as hard as he could at Steve, knowing he would barely be able to block it. It traveled fast and Steve only had a moment’s notice to lift both of his arms and brace for the impact, shouting and groaning at the pain that came with it. The shield sent him back quite a few steps and fell just a few feet away. Bucky moved, but Steve knew his intentions, and he picked up the shield and held it defensively, ignoring how familiar it felt.

Punch after kick, blow after blow. They went at each other like animals, and in the midst of it, Bucky had shot Steve in the side, then lost his gun when Steve came at him with more anger than Bucky ever imagined the past Steve having in him. Steve had thrown the shield aside too after knocking Bucky back with it. Steve managed to fake Bucky one way and stab him in the shoulder with a knife. As Bucky full-on tackled Steve and sent them both to the floor, it left a slowly growing puddle of blood that only made things more complicated and slick.

Bucky growled and tried to knock Steve off, but he wouldn’t give. He would stop, he clawed and scratched because there was nothing else. It was man against man, and somehow Bucky realized that this was how Steve wanted it to be. He didn’t want to use a sniper on him (and god knows he could have, many times). He didn’t want to end this by taking the easy route. He had to use his bare hands, and he had to make Bucky watch him and know that it was Steve who did this.

Somehow, Bucky wouldn’t prefer it any other way.

Ever since discovering that Steve was – one way or another – alive, Bucky hadn’t stopped searching for him. He wanted to find him, wanted to take him home and make up for lost time. But Steve didn’t want to come home. For him, there was nothing for him with Bucky, because there  _was_ no Bucky. And in a world where Steve didn’t remember Bucky, there wasn’t a world at all.

Steve punched Bucky’s jaw, forcing him beneath him. “You’re,” he landed a harsh blow to Bucky’s stomach, “my,” he punched him again, sending his head one way, “ _mission._ ” He wrapped his hands around Bucky’s throat, his hold immediately cutting off any circulation. Steve’s expression was hard and determined and shifting between an array of emotions, too fast for Bucky to keep track of. Bucky reached up, clawed at Steve’s arms and his wrists, anything to get him away. Bucky looked into Steve’s eyes, searching for anything, anything to pull him back…. Nothing.

He’s not the kind you save, Sam had said. He’s the kind you stop.

And Bucky… well, Bucky couldn’t stop him.

Bucky gasped, clutched at Steve’s wrists, pulled  _desperately_ , tried to say his name, tried to get through to him. Steve held on tighter, choked out something akin to a sob, but Bucky could barely hear it. His vision blurred around the edges, his body felt weak and his hands barely held on. He felt a tear escape the corner of his eye but there was nothing he could do. Steve was looking down at him, his own tears staining his face, leaving streaks in the blood on his cheek, and he knew he had to take that away, take away his pain, make things better, he had to, for Steve, he had to…

—————

Steve pulled back, breathing heavily, his body trembling. He rested his forehead against Bucky’s unmoving chest.

"I’m sorry. I–… I’m sorry.”


End file.
